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Thursday, August 10, 2017

Evidently my younger brother Mark finds that passing out in his living room chair while supposedly watching some T.V. entertainment qualifies him for sitting up later than usual.

After he got home last evening, around 8:20 p.m. I put on the premiere episode of Salvation. He was busy reading a newspaper and whatever else, but he finally joined me in the living room after I had tuned in the second season's premiere episode of Shooter.

I think Mark was passed out well before it was half over. And he remained that way throughout the entirety of the premiere episode of Midnight, Texas that I next tuned in.

I tuned in a news station thereafter, and he soon awoke to that.

And then sat up until essentially 11:00 p.m. He would still be shaving and brushing his teeth once he was shut up into his bedroom, so he was up awhile longer yet ─ his clock-radio is set for 4:30 a.m. to rouse him for work.

I was to find myself involved in responses to two people's E-mails, and so it was likely shortly after midnight before I finally got into bed.

Initially I slept very well, I would say, for I was unusually tired.

But about 6½ hours later, I was awake enough to start my day. And I felt almost dreadful ─ I was groggy, and my entire frame ached.

I found my youngest stepson Poté downstairs readying for work, and by 7:00 a.m. he was out the front door to drive himself away. I never was certain if his older brother Tho had gone to work or not. It wasn't until early in the afternoon when I had a piece of mail for him that I left on his bed that I knew for sure he was gone.

This was the first day this week that he had bothered going to work.

As is my usual morning routine, I busied myself with the construction of a post at one of my hosted websites ─ my latest commitment is to Amatsu Okiya.

Yesterday I had considered that I might do some local grocery shopping this morning, but there was no question that nothing like that was going to take place. But despite my slow physical improvement, I at least hoped to get in some exercise in the backyard tool shed.

I never did break from the post. I sat and completed the entirety of today's content assignment.

It was after 10:30 a.m. when I was out in the shed. I had the workout, but I certainly did rush into nor through it.

Then once back in the house, the despair and loneliness that had marked my morning became overmuch, and I turned to utter folly. This conduct has become my declaration to God that I cannot bear the throttled life I am forced to lead.

As is everything I do, it is futile ─ desperately so.

And thus I probably wasted a couple of hours that could have been far better expended.

I am so trapped.

At that point it was after 2:00 p.m., and it suddenly dawned upon me that I had not gotten in the day's sunning under the somewhat smoky skies that have characterized the past 10 or more days ─ a symptom of the forest fores elsewhere here in B.C.

But first I needed to have my day's breakfast / lunch ─ I hadn't eaten a thing as yet.

And then at exactly 2:36 p.m., I was seated in a chair out on the backyard lawn, commencing just over 40 minutes facing into the Sun, and wearing naught but a pair of athletic shorts.

And that brings me to the present.

I want to post this old photo of my mother Irene Dorosh, but I cannot offer any details whatsoever concerning it. I do not recognize the building she is beside, nor can I even claim with much confidence that the photo may have been taken during the decade of the 1970s:

I sure miss having her in my life ─ my father, too.

Only my brother Mark and I remain from our nuclear family, but he and I have become so removed from one another despite living in the same house that...no, I do not feel that I can dig into this today.

Let's talk a bit about coconut oil.

I never realized until about a week ago that there definitely is too much of a good thing where this commodity is concerned. I've only been using virgin coconut oil at all regularly in my diet for well under a year, but there have been days when I have consumed five or six tablespoonfuls of the stuff.

It's worth noting that people tolerate coconut oil differently, and you may have to start slowly and build up to these therapeutic levels. My recommendation is to start with one teaspoon, taken with food in the mornings. Gradually add more coconut oil every few days until you are able to tolerate about four tablespoons. It's best to take it with food, to avoid upsetting your stomach.

At least now I know that I should keep the ceiling at four tablespoons as a probable maximum. No more than that is necessary nor even beneficial.

I suppose if someone was undertaking a ketogenic diet to attempt to defeat cancer, then perhaps more might be in order.

Thanks to U.S. Senator John McCain's glioblastoma, that form of brain cancer has been getting lots of mention lately:

I bet there are sugar junkies out there who would not give up carbohydrates even if they had developed brain cancer!

So many people are utter idiots.

However, so am I in so very many ways. And corrupt.

I take leave now with a journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I must by now have been over halfway through a three-month contract of full-time employment with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today called Fraserside Community Services Society.

The old building on Carnarvon Street that S.A.N.E. operated from has been gone for many years now, but back then it was situated approximately where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station reaches onto Carnarvon Street.

I had some previous part-time experience with S.A.N.E. that might have stretched back at least 1½ years.

My role was as a swamper on S.A.N.E.'s blue pick-up truck that was generally driven by dear Esther St. Jean, a lady then into her early 40s.

TUESDAY, August 10, 1976

I had a few itchy moments last night, but slept well enough, arising 6:45 a.m.

I had a fine, filling supper, and had my first feed of homemade yogurt ─ truly satisfying.

Safeway may once more shut down, the threat commencing Thursday.

Took's story on dad is that probably only muscle was injured (he saw him in a sling Friday); someone fouled him up with a cane.

Bed at 10:30 p.m.

I was of the impression back then that I was suffering mosquito bites, but I now wonder if maybe they were from a bedbug.

Late the previous week, I had come into a yogurt-maker and various cultures that I had mail-ordered from Quebec. Since I now cannot certainly remember this equipment, I must not have had use for it for very long. It would have been far too much nuisance to have to be continually ordering cultures.

"Took" was another S.A.N.E. employee; he had gotten to know my father Hector because they frequented the same hotel beer parlours. Took had previously said that my father may have broken his arm up near the shoulder the previous Thursday in the Dunsmuir Hotel while my father was there drinking.

I remember my father wearing a sling for a darned long time ─ poor guy. He never really did regain full use of that arm and shoulder.